so dead was he to the world! Although he was not a man of deep erudition, yet probably he had as much learning as some of the apostles and primitive bishops, and doubtless sufficient for the word of the ministry. He was deeply read in the work of God: his knowledge in the Scriptures was so great, that one of his friends used to call him his concordance. He gave himself greatly to reading. Notwithstanding he was called to the office of an overseer at an advanced period of life, he magnified his office by travelling annually three or four thousand miles, through all the United States. A complication of painful and irresistible diseases, produced and aggravated by excessive travelling, closed the scene. He was a prodigy of pain and patience for thirteen weeks. He departed this life, in the full assurance of faith, July 5, 1806, in the house of Richard Bassett, Esq., in Dover, Delaware state. He hath proved himself worthy the affection and confidence of the Methodist connection in Europe and America. But we cannot in a few lines speak his Christian and ministerial excellences. Indeed they cannot be fully enumerated; for the man of deep piety frequently will not let his left hand know what his right hand doeth. Those who wish to see more of this Israelite indeed, may perhaps be favoured at some future period with a short account, written by himself, of his labours and travels in Europe and America, for about thirty-eight years. He professed the justifying and sanctifying grace of God, and all that knew him well might say, if a man upon earth possessed these blessings, surely it was Richard Whatcoat. March 30, 1807, at the place of his tomb, (Wesley chapel, in Dover,) Bishop Asbury made some funeral observations upon the death of Richard Whatcoat, his faithful colleague, from 2 Tim. iii, 10: "But thou hast fully known my doctrine, manner of life, purpose, faith, long suffering, charity, patience.' "That he had known Richard Whatcoat from his own age of fourteen to sixty. two years, most intimately, and had tried him most accu rately, in the soundness of his faith, in the doctrine of universal depravity, and the complete and general atonement. The insufficiency of either moral or ceremonial righteousness for justification, in opposition to faith alone in the merit and righteousness of Christ. The doctrine of regeneration and sanctification; his holy manner of life, in duty, at all times, in all places, and before all people, as a Christian and as a minister; his long suffering,-a man of great affliction of body and mind; having been exercised with severe diseases and great labours. But this did not abate his charity, his love of God and man in all its effects, tempers, words, and actions; bearing with resignation and patience great temptations, bodily labours, and inexpressible pain. In life and death, placid and calm. As he lived so he died." MR. WILLIAM GREEN. I was born in London, September 22, 1739. My mother, being pregnant with me, heard the first sermon which Mr. Wesley preached at the Foundry. Soon after, she found peace with God, and walked worthy of the Gospel to the day of her death, having been a member of the society upward of thirty years. I had the first part of my education at the Foundry school, so that I was early instructed in the principles of religion. But I was no better than if I had not been instructed at all; for God was not in all my thoughts. Between thirteen and fourteen I was put apprentice to a man who had some degree of the fear of God. For about three years he was able to manage me; but afterward I neither regarded the threatenings of my master, nor the counsel of an affectionate mother, but ran on in my own ways. When my apprenticeship was out, I was for ten years a faithful servant of the devil. But for the last two years, I was very far from being a willing captive; one hour praying against sin, the next falling into it. I could truly say, "The good that I would, I do not; but the evil which I would not, that I do." About July, 1770, a person lent me one of Mr. Wesley's journals. I read it with prayers and tears; seeing much beauty in being persecuted for righteousness' sake. They readily paid all the charges. And here ended our persecution in Sussex. I found a thankful heart for a good king, good laws, and liberty of conscience. And about this time I had much of the presence of the Lord: he was good to me, both as to my body and soul. I prayed much, and the Lord heard me, and delivered me from all my fears. In August, 1778, I was stationed in Staffordshire, where I spent the year with much satisfaction. I now look back on the labour of three and thirty years, and I do not repent of it. I am not grown weary, either of my Master, or the work I am engaged in. Though I am weak in body, and in the decline of life, my heart is still engaged in the cause of God. I am never more happy than when I feel the love of Christ in my heart, and am declaring his praise to others. There is nothing like the love of Christ in the heart to make us holy and happy. It is love alone that expels all sin out of the heart. Wherever love is wanting there is hell: and where love fills the heart, there is heaven. This has been a medicine to me ever since I set out. When I was low, it was this that raised me up. When sin and Satan beset me on every side, it was this that drove them all away. O love, how cheering is thy ray! Nothing hear, feel, or think, but thee." T. M. MR. RICHARD WHATCOAT. I was born in the year 1736, in the parish of Quinton, in the county of Gloucester. My father, dying while I was young, left a widow and five children. At thirteen years old I was bound apprentice, and served for eight years. I was never heard, during this time, to swear a vain oath, nor was ever given to lying, gaming, drunkenness, or any other presumptuous sin, but was commended for my honesty and sobriety. And from my childhood I had, at times, serious thoughts on death and eternity. I served the greatest part of my aprenticeship at Darlaston, in Staffordshire. But at the age of twenty-one I removed from thence to Wednesbury. Here I found myself in continual danger of losing the little religion I had, as the family in which I lived had no religion at all.Therefore I took the first opportunity that offered of removing to another place. And a kind Providence directed me to a family that "feared God and wrought righteousness." I soon went with them to hear the Methodists, which I did with deep attention: and when the preacher was describing the fall of man, I thought he spoke to me in particular, and spoke as if he had known every thing that ever was in my heart. When he described the nature and fruits of faith, I was conscious I had it not; and though I believed all the Scripture to be of God, yet I had not the marks of a Christian believer. And I was convinced that if I died in the state wherein I then was, I should be miserable for ever. Yet I could not conceive how I, that had lived so sober a life, could be the chief of sinners. But this was not long: for I no sooner discovered the spirituality of the law, and the enmity that was in my heart against God, than I could heartily agree to it. The thoughts of death and judgment now struck me with terrible fear. I had a keen apprehension of the wrath of God, and the fiery indignation due to sinners: so that I could have wished myself annihilated, or to be the vilest creature, if I could but escape judgment. In this state I was when one told me, "I know God, for Christ's sake, has forgiven all my sins: and his Spirit witnesseth with my spirit that I am a child of God." This gave me a good deal of encouragement. And I determined never to rest until I had a testimony in myself that my sins also were forgiven. But in the meantime such was the darkness I was in, such was my consciousness of guilt, and the just displeasure of almighty God, that I could find no rest day or night, either for soul or body; so that life was a burden, and I became regardless of all things under the sun. Now all my virtues, which I had some reliance on once, appeared as filthy rags. And many discouraging thoughts were put into my mind: as, "Many are called; but few chosen. Hath not the potter power over his own clay, to make one vessel to honour, and another to dishonour?" From which it was suggested to me that I was "made to dishonour," and so must inevitably perish. Before On September 3, 1758, being overwhelmed with guilt and fear, as I was reading, it was as if one whispered to me, "Thou hadst better read no more; for the more thou readest, the more thou wilt know; and he that knoweth his Lord's will and doth it not, shall be beaten with many stripes." I paused a little, and then resolved, let the consequence be what it may, I will proceed. When I came to those words, "The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirits that we are the children of God," as I fixed my eyes upon them, in a moment my darkness was removed, and the Spirit did bear witness with my Spirit that I was a child of God. In the same instant I was filled with unspeakable peace and joy in believing: and all fear of death, judgment, and hell, suddenly vanished away. this I was kept awake by anguish and fear, so that I could not get an hour's sound sleep in a night. Now I wanted not sleep, being abundantly refreshed by contemplating the rich display of God's mercy, in adopting so unworthy a creature as me to be an heir of the kingdom of heaven! This peace and joy continued about three weeks, after which it was suggested to me, "Hast not thou deceived thyself? Is it not presumption to think thou art a child of God? But if thou art, thou wilt soon fall away; thou wilt not endure to the end." This threw me into great heaviness but it did not continue long. For as I gave myself unto prayer, and to reading and hearing the word of God at all opportunities, my evidence became clearer and clearer, my faith and love stronger and stronger.And I found the accomplishment of that promise, "They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength." Yet I soon found, that though I was justified freely, I was not wholly sanctified. This brought me into a deep concern, and confirmed my resolution to admit of no peace, no, nor |
